The Protector
by TeamFranky
Summary: No longer the top dog, Franky is at the mercy of Ferguson. But someone is looking out for Franky.


**The Protector**

The new officer Daniel Holdaway, who was Will Jackson's replacement, led Franky to Governor Joan Ferguson's office, then left to join the other officers in a daily search of the cells that Ferguson had ordered in the wake of Bea Smith's escape. Franky felt tense as she entered the office. She was no longer top dog and she had to be on her guard, especially with 'The Freak' Ferguson! The governor remembered all the cheek that Franky had given her and she still had her suspicions about Franky's involvement in the contraband operations and the graffiti!

Franky sat down at Ferguson's desk. Ferguson faced Franky, staring into her eyes with a cruel smile.

'Good morning Doyle. Are you enjoying life at the bottom?' the governor asked.

Franky did not answer. She just sat still, arms folded.

The smile on Ferguson's face broadened. 'A fallen Franky,' she mused. 'I never thought I would see this. Well you were warned this would happen, my girl. How's life without your little Asian playmate? It must be very lonely without her.'

Franky scowled and remained silent. 'A silent Franky,' Ferguson continued. 'Well, well, well. Having a sulk? Or planning your next little scheme? Do you know what I see sitting opposite me? I see a bad little girl who has never grown up. And little girls who are bad must be punished.'

Ferguson then put on her gloves. 'Do you know what these are for?' she asked. 'I'm sure Doreen has told you about the slap across the face she received.'

'Oh! Going to slap me are you?' asked Franky, opening her eyes wide in mock fear.

'I think you know what the answer to that question is, little one,' Ferguson replied coldly. 'Actually, I have something much more efficacious.' She reached into the drawer of her desk and pulled out a long, black, supple nylon cooking spoon. 'Recognize this, Francesca? You may recall it from your cooking show days, and perhaps your happy childhood.'

'No shit!' laughed Franky. 'If you now want to give me the jam spoon, woman, you're going to have to catch me first, if I don't tell the corrections authorities!'

'Indeed? What the corrections authorities won't know won't hurt them,' Ferguson casually replied. 'You may think of yourself as a tough little fighter but that is only when you pick on someone your own size. I am taller and stronger than you are, and I am fast and I can grab. I can and will catch you when you least expect it, especially as you no longer have the protection of your little entourage rallying around you. You will be alone in the library writing your essay or be alone working the steam press at some point sooner or later, or be fast asleep in your bed when I will pounce and smack you into submission. Hmmm, you still have a few years of your sentence to serve. That means a few years of regular thrashings, which will occur as often as I can manage it.' She leaned across and tapped Franky on the nose with the spoon. 'You're not just aprisoner. You're my prisoner. Enjoy sitting down comfortably while you can, Doyle. It will become a privilege from now on.'

Franky left the office in silence. Holdaway solemnly shadowed Franky to her cell. Alone in her cell, Franky trembled. She could no longer laugh off the governor. She was now Ferguson's little plaything. She cried and lay down on her bed. As her shoulders made contact with the bed, Franky felt something small and solid under the cover. Curious, she turned over and felt under the cover. She pulled out a small blue paper bag with a tiny card taped to it. The card had a picture of a red rose, and a typed message was glued to the inside, which read:

Franky,

Someone will protect you.

Someone cares about you, no matter what.

Franky opened the bag. It contained several small heart-shaped chocolates in red foil. Although she was still tearful, Franky quickly consumed some of them. Chocolate had been a rare luxury since Ferguson had clamped down on prison contraband. She pondered over who could have given her the card and the confectionary. Boomer? No. She couldn't type to save herself, and would have scoffed the chocolates. Bea? Was Bea trying to reach out to her? But why send her heart-shaped chocolates? That was like some kind of thing for Valentine's Day. Whoever it was, Franky felt comforted by the message on the card.

Meanwhile, Ferguson cleaned her desk with a sanitary wipe. Holdaway entered the office and politely addressed her.

'Excuse me, Governor Ferguson,' he said, in a clear, courteous voice.

'What is it, Holdaway?' asked Ferguson.

'Do you remember the meeting we had before you spoke to the prisoner Francesca Doyle, where you discussed my work background?'

'Of course I recall the meeting and what it was about; it was only half an hour ago. What do you want?'

'Um…' Holdaway hesitated. 'This is a bit embarrassing but I seem to have misplaced my phone in your office when I was showing you my qualifications…'

'Really? Where do you think you put it?'

'Actually, I can see it. It's under your desk…'

'Good heavens! So it is! You must have dropped it when you were pulling out those certificates from your satchel. Reach under and grab it.'

Holdaway bent down and put the phone in his pocket, switching off the recording function as he did so.

'Make sure it's not your access card that you lose the next time,' Ferguson added sternly as she filled in a report form.

'Sorry I beg your pardon, Governor Ferguson. What did you say?'

'Your access card, do not lose it or your head will be on the block. You have no idea what violent and bloody chaos was unleashed the last time one of your predecessors lost an access card.'

'Oh yes, you do not want a repeat of that fight involving a box-cutter that was swiped from the mail-room by an inmate, who somehow got hold of an officer's access card to enter the mail room. That set in motion Bea Smith's escape and that young man getting shot dead…'

'Oh yes, yes, yes! All right! All right! I was there and I recall those events vividly,' interrupted a slightly irritated Ferguson, gesturing the officer to shut up by vigorously waving her hand in mid-air towards him. 'You get the picture. Sorry, I am too occupied for conversations at the moment. Resume your duties please, Holdaway.'

'My apologies, I will return to my duties right away, Governor Ferguson.'

Ferguson smiled to herself. She liked a male officer who gave her full respect! 'What a nice, polite young man. He is probably like that because he is a mother's boy,' she thought to herself. Holdaway still lived with his mum, who made his work lunch for him and shined his shoes like he was a big school kid. He had built in respect for older women. He was also so conformist and nerdy that if Ferguson ordered him to fall out the window he would probably do so, like Robin Williams in that old robot movie. Ferguson liked it. Daniel Holdaway could be the next Vera, Joan Ferguson's new little poodle, a poodle as purple as the little Mazda 121 car that he drove to work each day.

Ferguson got home in the evening and went to bed early. After a couple of hours sleep she was woken by the phone ringing. She got up and answered it.

'Is that Joan Ferguson?' asked a deep male voice.

'Yes, speaking,' answered Ferguson.

'I know what you did,' said the voice bluntly.

'Did what? Who is this calling? I'm not in the mood for wind-up calls!' Ferguson snapped.

'Hit Doreen, the indigenous woman, and told Franky Doyle you would beat her. It's all recorded. Contrary to what you said the corrections authorities will know about you thrashing Franky, unless you leave her alone.'

Ferguson felt a chill down her spine. This was for real; the caller was precisely recalling parts of her conversation with Franky. She struggled for words.

'Well Joanie baby? What will you do?' asked the voice in a tone even more dominating than the one Ferguson often exercised.

'Have you bugged my office? How did you do that?' Ferguson gasped in fear. 'This is blackmail! Who are you working for? What do you want? Money? My job?'

'Did I say I wanted money or your job, Joanie? No. Leave Franky alone and I will leave you alone. It is very simple.'

Then the line went dead.

Ferguson slowly made her way to the cupboard and filled half a tumbler with vodka. Who was onto her? The caller's voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she could not quite place it. Fletcher? It was too obvious for him to get back at her like that. He hated Franky anyway. Jackson? How could he set up an entrapment like this? He was in prison. She gulped down the vodka.

The blackmailer left the phone booth and walked three blocks through a busy industrial area to where his small gumball-shaped purple car was parked. He was captivated by Franky Doyle, even though he knew she wasn't into men. He couldn't help it. With her tattoos and attitude she was like a grown-up version of the bad girl he had always wanted to date at high school but had never gone out with because his mum, who had just sent him a text, would have disapproved. He would always protect Franky from anything, even if she did not know it was him who was the protector. He read the text, which asked if his night shift had finished yet and informed him that some beef stroganoff was waiting in the microwave for him to warm up for his dinner, and drove home.

**The End**


End file.
